


Hands Down

by PeppyDragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: Varric Tethras knows that Marian Hawke thinks of him as more than a friend.  Finally deciding to act on his own feelings for the kind-hearted rogue, he surprises her at her estate with an old dwarven pastime: degane dust.  Hoping to loosen her anxious reservations, Varric prepares for a night to remember - either one that ruins their friendship or pushes them past companions and into something more.- Takes place during Act II -





	Hands Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything!  
>  **Story Notes: Smut!** The inspiration song for this story is the ever-cheerful, ever-adorable ["Hands Down," by The Greeting Committee.](https://open.spotify.com/track/0dqJjKKxuKD5Dt3QH2n4CG) Please enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Varric had been at Hawke’s house for the better part of the evening, perusing her library and working on the new chapter of _Hard in Hightown._  He knew he should have been thinking about continuing _Swords & Shields,_ but it was a losing battle with that serial.  It didn’t flow from him anymore - not like it had at the start, back when it was all shiny and new.

He realized that it was an ironic take on his romance serial - how his love for it faded, just as sloppy, distant love tended to do in reality.  Varric knew that more than anyone; he’d been in love with the same woman for decades and nothing good had ever come from it.  Each year without her was easier for him, at least.  He’d gotten used to the loneliness, busying himself with his work, ignoring the Merchants Guild’s letters, taking care of his spy network, and looking as though he did nothing at all.

In addition to all of that, he had friends now, which was slightly unexpected.  Varric had always been well liked, of course - his gilded tongue had won him favor from almost everyone he met.  And those he couldn’t win over with his tales or ale, he could dispatch of handily with the help of Bianca the crossbow.  But now he had people, _his_ people.  Aveline was like an older sister - a large and intimidating older sister who pretended to dislike the role.  Isabela and Fenris were two of the best Wicked Grace players he had come across and the only two able to drink him under the table.  Merrill was sweetness personified, naive to the point that Varric sincerely worried about her predilection for playing with demons.  Anders, in spite of his mounting frustration and moping, was always willing to sit and talk with Varric about nothing at all - and sometimes the plight of the mages, of course. It was Anders, after all.  Sebastian was even amusing at times, serving as both a non-judgemental and _very_ judgemental voice in the group.

And then there was their ringleader, the adorable, slightly anxious and entirely too helpful Marian Hawke.  Varric assumed, jokingly, that she had been out all evening giving money to the poor and feeding stray cats. The thought of her stooped down in an alleyway, overrun by felines made him chuckle.

He was attempting to focus on his writing, focus on the quill and parchment, when he was saved from the horrors of work by the sound of the entry door slamming.  It was a startling noise in the otherwise quiet estate.

“Welcome home, Mistress,” Bodahn said, his voice chipper. “Do you need help with your-”

“No, thank you,” Hawke called with a sigh, her voice carrying perfectly to the study’s balcony where Varric was sitting. It sounded as though she was removing her armor, tossing it down in the entry hall. “Whose boots are by the door?” and then, before Bodahn could answer, she launched right into, “I think I need a bath, an entire bottle of wine, and to forget men exist.”

“Ah,” Bodahn hummed. “Human romance troubles. I'm afraid I've never been familiar with the customs or else I would offer advice or support.”

“Try dwarf romance problems,” she grumbled. Varric could hear her moving through the foyer, ducking down to rub her hound’s belly while cooing at him.  The mabari tore in circles, the sound of his nails scrabbling on the tile thunderous.

“Sorry, ma’am, I'm afraid I've never had experience with human and dwarf relations, either.”

“That's fine,” she chuckled. “Has Mordechai been outside for the night?”

“He has, Mistress. Oh, I almost forgot! Master Tethras has been in your study awaiting your arrival.  If that is all you needed from me, I will be retiring for the evening.”

“He's…  damnit, Varric,” she called up to the study, making Varric laugh. Hawke sighed, sounding annoyed. “Yes, Bodahn, go to bed. I've told you and Orana before, there is no need to wait up for me.”  

Varric grinned, listening to her bare feet crossing the tile floor before padding into the study and up the stairs. She was in the process of unwinding a scarf from around her neck when she came to a stop in front of the table he was sitting at. “I was supposed to have a quiet night in.”

He smirked at her, putting his quill down and corking his inkwell. “I can always come back once your dwarf drama is over,” he teased gently, loving the way her cheeks flamed. “Is Sandal dodging your attempts to woo him?”

Hawke opened her mouth, possibly to sputter, but then snorted. She sat across from him at the table, tugging her gloves off of her slender fingers. Varric caught a whiff of a spicy and sweet perfume as she unbuttoned the top of her high-necked tunic, the material parting down the middle to show a slender triangle of her collarbone.  “What brings you by so late? Did the Hanged Man finally burst into flame?”

“Shit, I hope not,” Varric laughed.  “I’m in the middle of negotiations to buy the place.”

“I am not sure why,” she said, leaning back in the chair.  “It’s a tinderbox, Varric.  I could sell you a literal tinderbox for much less money and heartbreak.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

She smirked at him and then leaned forward, arms crossing on the desk.  “My question stands.”

“Well, before I knew you were having a crisis of the heart, I thought we could spend the night making poor decisions.”

One of Hawke’s eyebrows quirked.  “What kind of poor decisions?”

“Before you say no, hear me out,” Varric began, making Hawke’s brows slant upward even more.  “There is this thing we dwarves like to do sometimes.  To unwind.”  Hawke simpered and he laughed.  “Not everything is sex, Peaches.  But this _is_ less exciting than sex, to be honest.”

“What isn’t?” she murmured before placing her chin on an upturned palm.  “Get on with it.”

“It’s a rock.”

“A… rock?”

“You grind it and add it to ale.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Are you trying to get me high on a dwarven hallucinogenic rock?”

“First off, it’s not hallucinogenic.”

She waited for him to continue but when he didn’t, she pressed, “And second?”

“Other than the hallucinogenic misunderstanding, you were spot on.”

Hawke watched him for a moment before asking, “Is it dangerous?”

Varric didn’t even have to think about the answer.  He’d been recreationally using the substance for over fifteen years and still hadn’t died.  “If we stay inside and don’t do anything too stupid, we’ll be okay.  Just don’t try swinging from the chandelier.”

“That is Sandal’s doing, not mine,” she informed him.

“Ah.  I understand the attraction now.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and got to her feet, hips swaying as she left the room.  Varric admired the view until she was out of sight.  He sighed softly and procured his bag, following after her.  He had known for some time that the soft-hearted human pined for him.  She did a good job of hiding it... until they were inebriated.  Drinking at the Hanged Man on long evenings had proved a test of self-control for Varric.  Isabela would flirt shamelessly, making Hawke giggle.  Hawke would then lean into Varric, pressing her face into his shoulder as she laughed, cheeks flushed from alcohol, breath caressing over his chest.  Varric would attempt desperately to keep from kissing the rogue and then the whole process would start all over again.

A few nights prior, right after a successful raid of a gang hideout at the docks, Isabela, Hawke, and Varric decided on a few drinks in celebration.  _A few drinks_ turned into _too many drinks_ and Varric found himself sitting by the hearth in his room, Hawke on his lap and Isabela begging them to kiss.

“I’ll kiss her if you don’t,” Isabela warned him.

“You say that as if I wouldn’t appreciate it,” Varric pointed out.  Hawke smacked his chest, teetering on his thighs, before leaning in to press her lips against his cheek. He had turned his head, intent on catching her lips with his, but she had leaned back just as quickly as she had descended and the moment was shattered.

She had a habit of doing that - each time Varric was close to asking her to be clear with him, each time he thought about taking her chin in a hand and dragging her down to his lips, she managed to say or do something to change the topic.  It was as if she had a radar for fun things and chose to avoid them all.

He found her in the kitchen, bent over to survey one of the larders, making clucking noises to herself. She glanced behind her as Varric entered. Varric wasn’t sure if she’d noticed him watching her ass, but if she had, she evidently hadn’t minded.  “You need a mortar and pestle, right?  Or is it already ground?”

“Already ground,” he confirmed.  “Straight from Bartrand’s place.  He never liked the preparation of his highs, always wanted it right then, immediate.  Just like his thaig treasures, evidently.”

Hawke’s face fell.  She walked the few steps to him, pulling him into a hug.  She was slightly more than a head taller than him, but even so, she always seemed so small in his arms. He assumed it had something to do with her slight build, the slender bones and muscles.  

His head rested just above her breasts and one of Hawke’s hands slid over the back of his neck, caressing gently.  “We never really talked about it.”

“We didn’t,” he agreed softly.  “Or about Leandra.”  Hawke swallowed and Varric’s arms tightened around her waist.  

“She liked you,” Hawke chuckled.  “Mother always wanted to have you over for dinner.”

Varric smiled, remembering the Hawke matriarch's insistence that he eat more each time he had been there around supper time. _“You’re looking too thin!”_ she’d told him once, which made him laugh harder than he should have.  Varric had never been overweight, but _thin_ wasn’t something anyone would ever call the barrel-chested dwarf.

“I hate to break it to you, Peaches, but Bartrand hated you.”

Hawke pulled away laughing, wiping the ghosts of tears from her eyes.  “Come on, let’s get this sediment into some drinks and see how quickly I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Varric reassured her, setting his bag down on the long table in the middle of the kitchen, rummaging through it until he found the leather pouch of degane dust.  Hawke had busied herself pouring a jug of ale into two tankards, looking slightly nervous.  Varric thought about trying to ease her concerns further, but he knew her well enough to know that would just embarrass her.  She didn’t like showing her weaknesses and, usually, none would ever notice them.  But Varric wasn’t just anyone - he’d spent years watching her, analyzing her, committing every frown and smile and brow crease to memory.

“All right,” she said, pushing the tankards toward him, “dazzle me.”

Varric sprinkled some of the degane into the mugs, more in one than the other, and pushed the lesser toward her.  “The first time is always stronger than you’d expect. Better to wean you in.”

Hawke gave him a coy smile, taking the tankard.  “If I didn’t know better, Tethras, I would think you were too greedy to split it evenly.”

“Sweetheart, if you can handle that much I will gladly get you more. Just take it slow at first.”

She winked at him and picked up the tankard, tilting her head back and chugging. Varric chuckled and began downing his own mug.  He wasn’t going to let her lose her mind alone, after all.  He finished his before she did hers.  He took the few moments to watch her cheeks as they flushed, the slender strip of exposed skin from her unbuttoned tunic, and the way her bangs fell back from her face.  

By the time she finally put her tankard down, Varric could feel the dust flaming his insides, bathing him in warmth.  From the pink glow on Hawke’s cheeks, she was feeling it, too.  “Whoa,” she whispered, putting a hand to her forehead.  “Varric-”

“You’re fine, Peaches,” he cooed gently, reaching across the table.  “Come over here, watch the fireplace.”  It was always better to give the person something steady to focus on in the beginning.

“It’s so hot in here,” she groaned.

“You’re right in front of the hearth, Hawke, come over here.”

But Hawke wasn’t listening to him.  She began to unbutton the rest of her tunic, shrugging it off and letting to fall to the floor.  Varric had seen her in her smallclothes before - it was usually a simple breast band and cotton loincloth.  She wasn’t wearing a breast band, though - instead, there was a red corset with golden piping around the breasts. The corset was short, ending above her navel, and seemed to be made out of a flexible, soft material.  Varric immediately wanted to touch it, to see if it was as plush as it looked.

Hawke stretched and stumbled a little, giggling at her lightheadedness.  She was weaving closer to the fire which made Varric’s mind drop the thought of touching her and jump to, “Maker, Hawke, you’re going to fall into the hearth.  Come over here.”

She grinned at him and hopped onto the long table, draping herself length-wise over the wood.  She made a soft noise in the back of her throat, one of her hands reaching above her head to caress the wood grain.  “Everything feels magical,” she whispered.  “This must be how Bethany feels all the time.”

“I doubt that,” Varric murmured, the urge to touch the strange material getting stronger now that she wasn't close to setting herself on fire. “How are you doing, Hawke?”

“Good,” she drawled, eyes squinting as she looked at the ceiling.  “I think I see a face in the stone.”

“There isn’t a face there.”

She snorted. “I didn’t mean a _real_ one.” She kept gazing at the ceiling, and he took the moment of her distraction to lower his eyes over the exposed skin of her stomach, the sharp rise of her hip bones peeking out of her breeches.

“So,” Varric started, getting to his feet to collect the pitcher from the counter, “who is this dwarf you’re pining over?”  She scoffed at him, and he poured the ale into his tankard, topping it off with a bit of dust.  “Is he why you’re wearing this?”  He reached out, running a finger across the flexible boning of the corset.  It was just as soft as he imagined; imported velvet if he had to guess. Possibly Orlesian.

“Who said it was a he?” she chuckled, turning her head to look at him.  She looked more relaxed than he had seen her in years. She looked completely at home in her own skin, draped across the table as if it was a normal thing to do in the middle of the night.

“You did when you came in.  But if it’s a _she_ then I would like to request a table to that particular show.”

“I didn’t take you for a spectator, Varric,” she teased softly, her lips quirking into a delicious grin.

“Not usually, but I know when to not press my luck.”  He drank half of his tankard, beginning to feel the telltale buzzing behind his retinas.  He didn’t need the bump, but at the same time….  Things seemed to be going well thus far.  Hawke was relaxed and playful, she was joking with him, and her eyes weren’t haunted by loneliness. All in all, it seemed to be a job well done. Even so, he was curious to see where the night would lead if their inhibitions weren’t choking them. If Bianca faded from his mind a little more, if Hawke turned herself over to her desires.

There were endless possibilities - most of them good.

Hawke was still watching him as he drank from the tankard.  When he lowered it, she sat up slightly, glancing inside.  “Oh,” she pouted.  “You didn’t save any for me.”

“I don’t think you need more just yet,” Varric replied, watching her lower lip jut out just slightly.  “Would you like me to tell you a story, or do you want to tell me one?”

It was a game they had created for just the two of them - a game Hawke had created, actually.  When Hawke wanted to talk about something, she had a funny habit of setting up a fable to hide her story within.  She told him she’d been learning it from him - how to hide meanings, how to make her story palatable, how to make it less personal.  

It wasn’t necessarily healthy, using fictions to tell the truths.  But who was Varric to judge? He’d been doing it his entire life.  And, as far as he knew, no one was entirely healthy in their coping mechanisms.

Hawke’s smile widened.  “Neither. I want cookies.”

Varric blinked, unprepared for that. “Cookies? I’m pretty sure Orana is asle-”

“No, dummy, I want to _make_ them,” she said, springing to her feet with more speed and grace than Varric had thought possible.  She was a flurry of motion as she brought things up from the icebox in the cellar, hips swinging.  “Can you grab the flour and sugar from the second larder?” she asked, pointing toward it with her chin while struggling to carry her cold items.  “Bottom shelf in the middle.”

Varric did as requested, finding the items quickly.  When he returned to her, putting the sugar and flour on the table beside her, he mused, “Good thing you keep all of this low or I’d have had to show you why dwarves aren’t known for our climbing abilities.”

“Orana did it for Sandal.  He likes to make cakes.”

“No kidding?”

“Not even a bit. He is actually quite good at it,” she said, grabbing a bowl and dumping items into it. She focused on the task intently, silence stretching between them before she continued, “I usually despise cakes but his are divine.  There is this orange cake that tastes like summer and every good memory you’ve ever had.”

“Now I see why you’re in love with him.  Careful he doesn’t make you fat.”

“The way you tell your stories, Varric, you already think I’m fat,” she pointed out, using a large wooden spoon to mix her concoction in the bowl.

“Ah, don’t be sore, Peaches.  I have to humanize you somehow.  Saying your face is perpetually flecked with food just makes you more approachable.”

“And my going into battle _covered in gravy?”_

Varric couldn’t help but snicker.  “You can’t deny that it is a fantastic mental image.”  She bumped him with her hip and then swayed, closing her eyes and letting out a soft noise.  Varric’s hand found the small of her back, steadying her.  “Maybe you should get back on that table, let me finish this.”

Hawke turned slowly, Varric’s hand sliding from her back to her abdomen.  He didn’t move it and she didn’t try to, either.  She leaned back on the table, watching him, her breasts rising and falling with quickened breath.  “Why do I feel like my heart is about to burst?”

“It happens, lean into it,” he suggested, hand sliding to her hip, gripping it.  “How is everything else?”

She chuckled, leaning back on the table more, her body pressing against his hand firmly.  “Just fine, thank you.  Although things seem to be swimming and also not moving at the same time.  It is hard to make sense of it, but it’s entertaining.  And I _desperately_ want a cookie.”

Varric pulled away from her reluctantly, taking the bowl of batter over to the counter near the hearth.  “Let me handle this, you sit.”

“Are you sure you can take care of it?” she asked, voice huskier, tone teasing.

“I am fairly confident I can take care of anything you have planned, Hawke,” he replied, loving the throaty chuckle that tore from her mouth.  The dust was building up in her, making her inhibitions falter. She was coming alive.

He busied himself with placing the batter on a tray before sliding it into the grooves above the fire. When he finished he turned back to find Hawke sitting on the long table, legs dangling over the side, spread with enough room for Varric to move between them. She was watching him intently, dark wisps of her black hair distorting the icy blue of her eyes.  She looked beautiful and deadly all in one moment, smirking at him like an assassin might before the kill.

“I think I want more,” she purred, one of her hands smoothing over the velvet of her corset. It took Varric too much time to realize she meant the degane. Before he could respond, she added, “Everything feels _so_ soft. Come feel how soft this is.”

Varric considered telling her that he had felt it already, but she knew that. She'd been right there. She was trying to be seductive… and it was definitely working. Varric’s abdomen clenched as he strode to the low table, saddling between her legs and stroking a hand across her side, across the velvet. “Who were you trying to impress with this very soft corset, Peaches?” he goaded softly, a finger tracing over the hem, sliding up toward her ribs. Her breath hitched and she moved slightly closer. The smell of ale and her dark, spicy perfume made his senses explode. “You smell good, too. Must be some dwarf.”

She chuckled raspily.  “Who said I did it for anyone aside from myself?  I like to feel pretty sometimes.  I don’t have _this_ to bolster my confidence.” One of her hands slid through his chest hair as she spoke, nails scratching gently across his skin.  She giggled, leaning in to put her face in the crook of his neck, just as she would at the Hanged Man after too many drinks.  Her lips caressed his neck as she murmured, “Are you jealous, Tethras?”  Before Varric could say anything - an affirmative, a guess that the dwarf she was trying to impress was him - she pulled back, looking startled.  “Cookies.”

Varric sighed, unable to help himself.  Hawke was nothing if not predictable - she couldn’t help herself when it came to ruining moments.  He turned away from her and checked the cookies. They were still slightly doughy in the middle, but he also knew that was how Hawke preferred them; crisp on the outside, soft inside.

He pulled the tray from the fire and placed it on a cooling pad on the table.  Hawke looked thrilled as she poured more ale into a tankard and sprinkled some of the dust into it.  “I doubt that will taste good with these,” he informed her.

“Cookies taste good with everything,” she argued placidly, taking a deep pull from her mug.  She leaned back on her free hand, watching him through lidded eyes.  Varric got another tankard and they drank quietly for a while, watching one another over the rims of their mugs.  Varric’s vision was sharpening to the point that he thought he might have been able to see every faint, almost invisible, freckle on Hawke’s nose.

Hawke was the first to break the silence, voice thick and eyes swimming in something dark.  If this had been one of Varric’s books, he would have described her as  _in a state of thirst that only he had the power to quench._ “I went to the Hanged Man, you know. I waited for you but you never showed up. I guess I figured you were out doing fun things without me.”

“I would never,” Varric replied, amused, before putting a hand on her knee.  “I was waiting for you here. Take it easy on that dust, by the way.”

She smirked at him.  “Why?  What happens if I take too much?” she pressed, reaching for the bag and sprinkling a little more into her mug.  “You said it can’t hurt me, can’t kill me.  So why worry?”

“At least for me, there’s an insatiable urge to kiss people, to touch soft things, and having a headache in the morning.”

“None of that sounds too awful,” Hawke grinned, leaning over to glance at the cookies.  Her body was sprawled over the table again, her breasts pressing into the corset, more of her skin exposing with the motion.  “You did well, Varric, I’m surprised.”  She grabbed one of the cookies, letting out a slightly distressed noise at how hot it was, but that didn’t stop her from biting into it.  

Varric watched as a small line of chocolate dripped from the cookie onto her.  It ran perfectly across the middle of her full lower lip and Varric finally saw an opportunity she couldn’t run from.  He leaned in, brushing his thumb across her lip, collecting the chocolate.  She looked startled at first, but then a coquettish grin stretched across her face.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Peac-” he began, about to bring the finger to his lips.  Hawke grabbed it before he could, her mouth enclosing around the digit, tongue caressing his thumb pad.  Her eyes never wavered from his.

Varric’s heart was in his throat.  It had finally happened. The floodgates had opened and there was no going back.  He pulled his hand away from her mouth to wrap it around the back of her neck, pulling her into him.  Their lips met and it felt like electricity was running through his body.  Hawke seemed to feel it, too, because she groaned into his mouth and dropped the remains of her cookie on the floor.  When they parted, Hawke leaned back on the table, running a hand over her face.  “I know what you mean now.  I definitely want to kiss people.”

“People?” he chuckled, a hand brushing across the flat, exposed skin of her abdomen.  “Or me?”

“You are the only one here, Varric,” she replied as if that was a real answer.  Her head turned toward him, icy eyes almost entirely hidden by her drooping eyelids.  Her lips were tweaked upward as she looked at him.  

“I think you might be understating things,” Varric began, sitting on a stool in front of her turned head.  He ran a hand through the loose strands of hair around her face, marveling at how soft they were.  He’d never noticed, but he’d also never pet her.  “I think you might have put that corset on so you could show it to me.”

“Oh?” she giggled, sitting up on an elbow, angling her slim body to face him.  “That seems rather presumptuous.”

“Am I right?”

She smirked and leaned in, her mouth finding his again.  She ran her tongue along his lower lip and Varric couldn’t help the soft groan that emerged.  Their tongues struggled with one another before Hawke nipped his lower lip, making him growl into her mouth. One of her hands, the one that wasn’t supporting her weight, went to the back of his head, deftly tugging the tie from his hair, the strands falling around his face.  Her fingers buried into them, nails gently massaging his scalp.

Varric wanted to touch her, feel her skin beneath his, run his nails across her ribs and watch her squirm.  He wanted to taste her, to feel her under his mouth, under his tongue.  He wasn’t sure if he had wanted anything more in a long time - perhaps not in his entire life.

He pulled back from her, Hawke letting out a disgruntled whine, and climbed onto the table, pushing her onto her back and straddling her hips.  Hawke lifted herself up only slightly as he lowered himself to her, their lips melding, caressing one another.  Varric supported the back of her neck with his hand before running his lips down her chin and over her jaw.  She was beginning to thrust her hips into him, her skin flushing and heating under his.  

“Varric,” she pleaded, voice soft against his ear.  “Please.”

“All in good time,” he chuckled against her neck, lips trailing further down and across her collarbone.  He found that her corset was doing its damnedest to keep him from her breasts and sighed, hands reaching around her back and finding the thin strings that held the bodice together.

”Need help?” she purred, pressing her face into his neck, nipping the skin there.

“You don’t think I know my way around a corset?  Hawke, you wound me.”  His face fell to the soft skin of her upper breasts as his fingers worked, tongue sliding across the smooth mounds.  The further down his hands traveled, the looser the bodice became, the more skin he felt exposing along her back.  He tried to keep his mind on task, but the dust was making it difficult to think about anything other than getting her breeches off of her, getting everything off of her, and devouring her.  

He finally removed the corset and tossed it aside, narrowly missing the hearth.  He pulled back to admire the long stretch of milky skin, the occasional scar decorating her torso.  She leaned back on her elbows, watching him, smirking.  “You finally got under my shirt, Varric.  Feeling accomplished?”

“Not yet. We’ll talk once I get you off a few times.”

Her eyelids fluttered and Varric chuckled, lowering his face to a breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth.  Hawke arched against him, breathy moans falling from her lips.  He was proud that he was already getting such a response - the human had evidently not had a bed partner in a while, or her bed partners were not very skilled.  He supposed it could have been the dust’s effects, too, but he would rather stroke his own ego than give all of the credit to a drug.

He switched to the other breast and Hawke gasped softly, a hand rising to run through his hair, to grip it, to pull him into her tighter. Varric could feel his cock twitching, yearning against the way her hips were moving, the way her breath was coming in heady gasps, the way the valley between her breasts smelled spicy and sweet from her perfume.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the top of his head.

“Worried someone might find out?” he asked, pulling back only enough to begin kissing down her ribs, sliding down her body, kissing across the smooth muscles of her abdomen.  “Worried Sandal might come in for a midnight snack, and you’ll lose your chance with him?”

Hawke snorted, smacking his arm. “You should perhaps stop mentioning Sandal or I might try for it.”  Her hand smoothed through his hair and over neck, nails gripping into the tunic covering his back.  “I just thought we might be more comfortable there.  More room for activities.”

She was right, of course, but any time away from her skin felt like a betrayal.  Even so, he placed one last kiss just above her breeches and pulled back, sliding off of the table and offering his hand to her.

She hopped off of the table, ignoring his hand, and swayed out of the room.  Varric couldn’t help the desire coursing through him as he watched her go, watched her hips swing and the breeches caress her ass just perfectly.  He followed after her, the urge inside of him blossoming with each step they took up the stairs.  It was becoming impossible to fight it so he reached out and turned her around, gripping her hips to ensure she wouldn’t fall down the steps and take him with her.  Once she was facing him, grinning like an idiot, he gently pulled her down.  She sat on a stair, angling herself toward him, legs spreading around him as if she knew exactly what he had in mind.

His fingers went to the strings of her breeches, tugging them apart and sliding the tight leather down her shapely thighs and slender calves.  Her smallclothes joined the pile, a matching red velvet to her corset.  The loincloth was drenched with her arousal and made Varric’s mouth water.  “Doesn’t seem like the best material for somewhere that gets so warm and wet,” he began, leaning down, one hand on the step under her hip, the other sliding across the slit of her sex.

Hawke tilted her head back, moaning loudly as his finger brushed across her clitoris.  “You talk too much, Tethras,” she breathed to the ceiling.

“It’s something you love about me, Hawke,” he returned, leaning down to nip her neck as his index finger slid between her folds and into her passage.  It was a tight fit for Varric’s thick finger, something he hadn’t fully anticipated, and she let out a small hiss of pain.  “Sorry, Peaches,” he murmured against her skin, slowing his finger’s pace and it smoothed its way inside of her.  He had only been a with a few other humans in his time, and none of them had been quite so small.  He worried briefly that sex wouldn’t even be possible for them, that they were about to ruin the friendship and make everything awkward for nothing.

But she loosened a little with each thrust of his finger until he was tempted to try sliding a second into her to see if she would actually be able to accommodate his size.  He decided to wait on that, however, because Hawke was making the most delicious trilling noise deep in her throat, something like a moan that had been stretched out impossibly long.  His mouth covered her neck in kisses, nips, and licks, thrilling in the moans and panting that made her chest heave against his. His finger sped up, slamming into her harder, thumb pressing into her clit as she writhed.

She came with a loud, long shout, her entire body seizing, her passage restricting around his finger impossibly tight.  If there was one thing the rogue beneath him had, Varric mused as his finger lost feeling for a moment, it was incredible muscle strength.

Hawke slumped back onto the stairs, leaning against them, panting.  “Fuck,” she whispered, shuddering as Varric’s finger began to move again, bumping against her walls gently, slowly, trying to build her back up.

“Mistress? Is everything alright?” a voice called up from the stairs leading to the servant quarters below.

 _“Andraste’s ass!_ I’m fine! _I’m fine,_ don’t-” she groaned, wincing as Bodahn rounded the corner in his night shift, holding a candlestick and squinting up at the scene that was on full display.  

Bodahn’s eyes widened so much that Varric almost thought they would roll out of his head.  “Oh…. Oh! Oh my, I am-”

“Bodahn, please just… go somewhere not here?” she requested, a hand running over her flushed face as her head fell back onto a step.

“Of course, Mistress Hawke, of course… uhm.”  And then he shuffled away, muttering something about needing to learn what noises meant what in the mansion.

Varric couldn’t help the low, rumbling laugh building in his chest.  He lowered his face into the valley between Hawke’s breasts, kissing the fragranced skin.  “I assume you would like to go to the bedroom before Orana decides to investigate?”

“Yes, please,” she groaned.  “She has seen enough traumatic things in her short life. I don’t think witnessing us having sex on the stairs would help.”

“I don’t think traumatic is the right word with the way you were reacting,” he breathed, tongue flicking across a nipple, finger still sliding into her tight passage.  She grumbled, but her heart was beginning to thunder against his mouth, her thin skin jumping with each thump.

“You know what I meant,” she finally replied, shuddering under his ruminations.  She groaned and pushed at his shoulders, trying to move him. “Varric, bedroom.”

“Whatever you need, Peaches,” he purred, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling it, before reluctantly pulling his hand out of her and helping her to her wobbly legs.  They left her breeches and loincloth on the stairs, not even caring to pick them up. Varric was under the impression that Hawke had forgotten everything past the swimming desire coursing through her. They had barely made it through the bedroom door before she shoved him against the wall, bending down to drag her teeth over his neck, biting his collarbone as her fingers tugged his tunic up.

Varric hadn’t expected her to turn on him so quickly - he had expected to have another half of an hour between her legs, at least, before she had enough wherewithal to demand his clothing on the ground.  Not that he was complaining, of course.  She got his tunic off and immediately knelt in front of him, untying his breeches, fingers nimbly brushing across his straining cock.  As she slid his pants off, she pressed her face against his erection, lips kissing through the loincloth and making his heart stutter.

“It might be more efficient without that,” he said, making her chuckle.  She slid the loincloth off of him and let out a pleased noise, her tongue flicking out to run the length of his shaft, finally free and yearning for her.

Her mouth descended on his cock and Varric leaned his head back into the wall, groaning.  His hands trailed through her hair, gripping the strands gently as he tried to steady his breathing.  Her head bobbed quickly, taking as much of him in as she could, tongue curling around his length as she moved.  She was almost too good with her mouth and Varric had to grab her jaw, whispering, “Slow down, Hawke, you’re gonna kill me at this pace.”

She chuckled, the noise vibrating through him and making his abdomen clench.  She didn’t slow down - in fact, her mouth took him in further, a soft rasping sound coming from her throat.  He gasped as she pulled up, tongue flicking across the head before sliding down again.

“Hawke, really-” he wheezed, feeling the climax building at the base of his spine.  He knew it hadn’t been long since she had begun but he was already shuddering. He gripped her hair a little harder and she moaned, speeding up.  “Hawke, you need… to….”  He was panting, trying desperately to keep control. His body had other ideas, though.  His knees were beginning to shake and his cock was swollen with need.  “Hawke, pull back,” he almost begged.  There was no going back - he knew he was going to come and there was nothing he could do.  “Hawke, I need to-”

Her motions became deeper, slower, sucking harder.  He let out a strangled gasp as his release washed over him.  Hawke kept moving as his hips bucked into her, her tongue sliding over his gushing head, sucking him in, her throat constricting around him with each swallow.

Varric wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to move again.  He slumped against the wall heavily as Hawke’s mouth slowed, sucking gently, coaxing what little come he had left out of him.  Varric sighed, the sound shaky, and ran a hand through her hair tenderly.  “Shit, Hawke,” was all he could say.

She chuckled and pulled her mouth away from him, kissing his deflating cock gently.  “You’re staying the night, right?”

His hand fell from her hair, caressing her cheek and jaw.  “Unless you’re planning on kicking me out.”

She grinned and stood, swaying her way to the bed and climbing into it, snuggling under the covers.  She patted the mattress and Varric went willingly, his legs still like unset jelly but his brain becoming more lucid with each second.  He got into the bed beside her, pressing his body into hers, head falling to rest on her pillow.  Their noses were practically touching and Hawke’s smile was breathtaking.  “How long have you wanted this?” she asked, a hand smoothing over the stubble on his jaw.

“Since we first met,” he admitted, a hand rising to cover hers.  “Remember how you kept going around and asking people for things you could help them with?”

She snorted.  “We needed money. I was going to get it, no matter what.”

“Sure, but you weren’t just in it for the money.  Maybe at first.  But each person we talked to… you _wanted_ to help them.  It was refreshing to see a genuine person in Kirkwall.  And then I saw you in action against those Carta thugs in Darktown and you were more than a sweet face. You were a scrapper, too talented for your own good.”

She chuckled and curled into him, face tucking against his chest, a leg sliding up to run across his.  “I know the feeling, Varric.  The first corny joke you told, I was yours.”

He ran a hand down her side, a delightful moan slipping from her lips.  “Which one was that?  The one about the gerbil living in Anders’ ass?”

Hawke giggled into his chest.  “I can’t believe you remember that!”

“I spent the entire time you were talking to him trying to find a way to make him unattractive to you.”

Hawke pulled back, biting her lower lip and grinning.  “That is perhaps the most manipulative, but romantic, thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Varric leaned in to cover her mouth with his. She melted into him, her leg sliding over his hip and drawing him in closer, each stretch of their skin touching. His mouth descended along her jaw before whispering against her neck, “I guess I have some work to do on that romantic bit.  Can’t have you relying on a memory from almost four years ago.”

He threw the covers back and kissed down her body, tossing one of her thighs over his shoulder and descending between her legs.  She let out a breathy moan, a hand sliding through his hair as his tongue slipped between her folds, finding her clitoris with ease and slathering it with attention.  His tongue flicked over it as he sucked it between his lips, feeling it engorge and warm with blood.  The position was beginning to get uncomfortable for his neck so he pulled back, moving her lower leg to rest under his neck before delving back in.

One of his fingers gently caressed around her opening, teasing her, feeling her muscles constrict with each pass he made.  Her fingers tightened in his hair, breath hitching.  After a few minutes of his teasing she finally snapped, “Varric, please, I can’t-”

His finger plunged into her slick passage, feeling the smooth ridges against his rough finger.  She yelped, the noise turning into a long, low moan, her hips bucking against him.  He wanted nothing more than to bring her to her completion, to be rewarded with her taste on his tongue as she shuddered around him, crying out in bliss.  But she began tugging at his hair, frantically murmuring, “No, Varric, Varric, please. I need you inside of me.”

He chuckled softly.  Her agitated voice let him know she was close, let him know she didn’t want to let go for some reason.  So he did what any love- and lust-addled aficionado of carnal desires would do.  He kept going.  Hawke didn’t protest anymore - she was too busy fighting for breath as her thighs squeezed into his neck, hands gripping into his hair desperately.  Her hips were losing their rhythm and she was suddenly whispering, “Varric, _Andraste’s ass,_ I-” she cut off, a sharp, keening cry slipping from her mouth as her climax washed over her.

Varric remained there, slowing his pace to give her a moment’s reprieve. He waited until her breathing calmed and her shuddering stilled, using the time to lap up the moisture that came with her hard orgasm.  When he finally unwound himself from her legs and joined her on the pillow, she was blearily blinking at him, smiling softly.

“You taste amazing,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek gently.  “Almost as good as you sound.”

Hawke actually blushed at the praise, looking awkward but grateful, making Varric's heart clench a little. What kind of people had she been with before that his words, so simple, so real, made her radiate from within as if she'd never heard them before? His thoughts died when she leaned in to take his lips with hers.  Her tongue hesitantly slipped into his mouth, tasting herself on him and moaning softly.  She became more emboldened, tongue sliding across his, a hand caressing over his chest and down, following the trail of hair to his cock.  Her hand encircled it and began to gently pump him to life. Their lips never parted until his cock was throbbing with the need to be inside of her.

“You’re ready?” he asked.

She smirked at him.  “I’ve been ready for over three years, Varric.”

He got to his knees and straddled one of her thighs, moving the other over his leg.  He gradually slid himself inside of her, careful to go slowly due to his size.  Her brow wrinkled with a tinge of pain but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.  She let out a soft groan and slid closer, taking the rest of him into her.

He moved against her, his hand sliding between their joined bodies and pressing into her clit, still molten and swollen, letting their motions rub her against him.  Her panting was breathy, her eyes lidded as she watched him.  A hand reached up to caress across his jaw, her lips turning up into a soft smile.  

Varric wasn’t sure how long they were fused together. The pleasure was too great to focus on anything else - their bodies rocking together, their eyes on one another, their hands stroking across each other.  Hawke’s breath had steadily sped up and, just as Varric thought she might orgasm again, she slowly sat up, the angle nearly taking Varric’s breath away.

Varric pulled her to him, their chests pressing together, their lips melding as he slowly thrust into her.  She was beginning to tremble against him, her arms wrapping around his neck.  She was starting to whimper, breath hot on his throat, and Varric took a moment to grip her thigh, pulling her leg to rest on his shoulder.

The angle seemed to do the trick. She came in a long, quiet gasp, her body shuddering and lips pressing into his jugular.  Her passage tightened around him, and he grunted past the urge to fill her.  He began to pull back, but her arms tightened around his neck, securing him in place. “Come for me,” she whispered against his neck.

“Hawke-”

“Please?”

His protest died on his lips, the tingling at the base of his cock becoming overwhelming.  He pressed his face against the side of her head, wheezing as his climax roared through him.  All he could hear was the rush of blood through his skull, through his ears.  His hips stilled as he came, his seed flowing from him and into her.

He slumped against her, spent, his chest hurting with the force of his breathing.  Hawke held him close to her as her leg fell from his shoulder, her hands smoothing over his back, nails gently scratching over his skin in soothing lines.

Untangling themselves from each other’s limbs, the two laid on the bed, bodies curling together again.  They breathed in one another’s breath, foreheads pressed together.  

“So, did you have a good night?” he asked finally.

Hawke chuckled sleepily.  “Not that your ego needs any inflation, Varric, but this was, hands down, the best night I could have ever asked for.”

Varric pressed his lips against hers before murmuring, “I want to tell you a story.”

Her eyelids fluttered, the blue orbs regarding him tiredly.  “Oh?”

“Once upon a time,” he began, feeling his lips tugging into a smile, “there was a surface dwarf with rugged good looks and more charm than he knew what to do with.”  Hawke sniggered.  “And one day, he met the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.  She was a lot of things he wasn’t - genuine, kind, forgiving, and could fill out armor like you would not believe.”  Hawke’s pleased blush spurred him on.  “Our surface dwarf told himself that someday he would be good enough for her, even though he knew he never would be - never _could_ be, even.  But even though he never became as pure as her, the exalted, beautiful creature took pity on him and decided to…” Varric paused, realizing he had almost said _love him._  “Care for him,” he finished lamely.

Hawke’s smile widened. Varric knew she had probably caught the hesitation and understood what it meant, but she didn’t press.  She was better than Varric in that way.  Kind.  “I have a story, too,” she murmured.

“Oh?”

She chuckled, wiggling down a bit and nestling her face against his chest, a hand smoothing through the hair there.  “Once upon a time, there was a confused girl who was always scared and never quite knew what each day had in store for her.  Her family had no money, her sister was in constant danger, and the girl couldn’t do much to solve any of their problems.  But then, one day, she met a surface dwarf with a smile that could light a room - and the girl’s heart.  He taught her how to fight for what she wanted, what she needed, and he was there when she fell.  When tragedy struck.  She never imagined that he could… _care for her_ the way he did.  But he did.”

“He does,” Varric corrected, arms tightening around her, chest tight with emotion.  The warm silence stretched between them and Hawke fell into a blissful sleep, her breath stirring his chest hair.

Varric wondered, very briefly, what the morning would have in store for him.  He didn’t expect her to regret it, especially not after their layered confessions, but concern had blossomed as soon as she had fallen asleep.  He thought of Bianca before pushing his one-time lover from his mind.  She was married.  She had another life.  He didn’t need to worry about her showing up - it had been years, after all.  And even if she did, what they had was in the past.  His only thought now was Hawke… so long as the cold light of morning didn’t change her point of view.

 

* * *

 

Varric, as it turned out, hadn't needed to worry about Hawke regretting their degane-induced night of passion.  He was awoken pleasantly by her supple lips on his jaw.  He moaned softly, blinking back sleep and a slight headache, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer.

Her gentle, thick hum made his heart flame. “Good morning, Tethras.”

“Good morning, Peaches,” he returned affectionately, kissing her lips.  “Ready for round two?”

She snorted, burying her face into his neck, kissing the hollow there.  “I think I need breakfast first.  Perhaps even a bath.”

“Nonsense,” he whispered, hooking her chin and drawing her lips back to his.  “What you need is a perfect start to your morning.”  He began to lower himself down her body, under the blankets, flipping her onto her back and lying between her legs.  He had just started to cover her labia in opened mouthed kisses, relishing the way her pelvis rocked against him when there was a sharp knock on her door.

“Who… _Andraste’s ass,_ really?” Hawke muttered under her breath.  “Bodahn, I’m sleeping!  Later!” she called aloud.

But the door was pushed open, and Ander's frustrated growl greeted them.  “Hawke, I need your help.”

Varric tried not to chuckle as Hawke’s thighs tightened around him, trying to still him as she pulled the duvet up around her chest.  “Anders, what-”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Hawke, but this is important. They’re misusing the Rite of Tranquility!” Anders was shouting and pacing by the sound of his clomping footsteps.  Varric, never one to shy away from drama, let his tongue slide across Hawke’s clitoris as a finger slid inside of her.

Hawke gasped loudly and Anders, always too wrapped up in his head, took that to be in response to his statement.  “I know! We _must_ fix this, Hawke.  I know you understand our plight - your sister might be at risk!  We need to go to the Gallows - now!”

“Anders, I am a little busy -- _oh, Maker,”_ she hissed as Varric’s finger pressed into her harder, blunt fingernail scraping across the sensitive mound of muscle within her.  Her hips bucked without her meaning them to, and Varric couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from his mouth.

Anders was very silent for a moment before stammering, “Oh… oh, Maker, why didn’t you-” he broke off and then, incredulously, “is that _Varric?”_

“Blondie, we’re a little busy,” he called, pulling back from Hawke’s sex only enough to utter the words before delving back into her.

 _“Maker,”_ Anders repeated, sounding equally surprised and horrified.  Varric was sure he was either blushing or gaping.  “I… I’m so sorry. I’ll… ah.  Come to my clinic when you are… when you are free.”

“Sure, I’ll be there,” Hawke muttered between gritted teeth.

“Um….”

“Anders, get out,” Hawke nearly shouted.

The door shut softly and Hawke’s tightened muscles relaxed a little. _“Blondie, we’re a little busy?”_ she repeated, sounding slightly amused and slightly annoyed as she tossed the duvet off to look at him.

He pulled back to grin at her, finger speeding up and making her gasp.  “Embarrassed?”

She rolled her eyes before leaning her head back, relaxing onto her pillow.  “You know that is not the case, dwarf.  Get back to work.”

“Gladly,” he laughed, descending on her again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am utterly in love with this pairing! If you want to see more Varric/Hawke one-shots (or even a chapter story), let me know. I have a few other things planned, but I am sure I can squeeze in some requests.  
> Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me! Have a fantastic day/night! <3  
> Love love,  
> Red


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